


Let me be good to you

by Oducchan



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Mizuki in a skirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 05:22:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17016519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oducchan/pseuds/Oducchan
Summary: [...]Over the years, he’s learned to expect anything from what once was his ‘’manager ", and by some twist of events, is currently his fiancé and housemate. Nothing truly shocks him anymore. Yet, some of his stunts still manage to catch him off guard and surprise him.-Mizuki... senpai?- He murmurs curiously, uncertain, with one hand still on the door’s handle and the other holding the keys in the lock.Mizuki, artistically spread on the sofa of the apartment they have been sharing for a few years, looks up at him, turning a curl in his fingers, and blinks innocently. At the same time he bends a knee, immediately diverting all the other’s attention on his legs. That are barely covered with a soft chocolate-colored, pleated skirt that barely reaches his knees.





	Let me be good to you

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Let me good to you](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/440718) by still me, Oducchan. 



> Ok I swear it makes sense. it's not my fault, the thing is that once upon a time, listening to All about that bass by Meghan Trainor I was struck by the image of Mizuki in a pleated skirt. And then of Yuuta reching under it. So after a while I had to write it down.  
> (Thanks to the amazing and super patient[ Puffcat ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Puffcat) who helped me by correcting the mess that was my translation from italian)

The fact that Mizuki Hajime is rather peculiar- full of ideas that, without much margin of doubt can be labeled as weird and behaviors largely out of the ordinary- isn’t exactly a new for anyone. Least of all for the bunch of idiots that had the misfortune of sharing the tennis club changing rooms with him during the middle and high school years, and especially the poor unfortunate souls who had the honor of getting caught up in his schemes and be part of his contorted activities of espionage and data collection.  
It is certainly not news to Yuuta Fuji, who has been the principal object of those schemes for many years, and not always with his explicit consent. Over the years, he’s learned to expect anything from what once was his ‘’manager ", and by some twist of events, is currently his fiancé and housemate. Nothing truly shocks him anymore. Yet, some of his stunts still manage to catch him off guard and surprise him.  
-Mizuki... senpai?- He murmurs curiously, uncertain, with one hand still on the door’s handle and the other holding the keys in the lock.  
Mizuki, artistically spread on the sofa of the apartment they have been sharing for a few years, looks up at him, turning a curl in his fingers, and blinks innocently. At the same time he bends a knee, immediately diverting all the other’s attention on his legs. That are barely covered with a soft chocolate-colored, pleated skirt that barely reaches his knees. And the edge of which, as a result of that flirtatious movement, has just slipped more than two centimeters higher.  
-Welcome back, Yuuta-kun- The playful voice of his senpai greets him gently, and Yuuta opens his mouth in a desperate attempt to tell him something. “Why the hell did you wear a St. Rudolph women's uniform”, for example, or maybe “what the hell are you doing”, or even, “the economics lesson must have melted my brain and now I have hallucinations”. Perhaps a “I am more than sure that we have already had a discussion about this kind of things and I have never expressed any interest in sailor fukus” might do the trick.  
But no meaningful words tumble from his throat. Not even a sound, to be honest, because he can only gape like a dying fish, and he can’t move his eyes from that skirt, from those slender legs peeping under it and from that shirt falling softly against his chest.  
-…Wow- he finds himself whispering, letting his bag slip to the ground with a dull thud, and slowly approaches his boyfriend, hypnotized by the sight. Mizuki just smirks, before shifting a little on the sofa to make room for him.  
-I hope you had a nice day- he chirps, the perfect representation of the young pretty wife, and because Yuuta had spent the morning trotting around Tokyo to run errands and the afternoon at the university to take one class after another, he nods without almost realizing it. He sits on the sofa and his hands immediately reach for the other’s ankles, taking them in his lap. Dangerously close to where his pants have suddenly become very tight.

-I didn’t even care about it- he mumbles, pouting. Mizuki only chuckles, satisfied with himself, before kicking off his shoes and taking care to press the balls of both feet precisely on the bulge that is now obscenely visible between his pupil’s legs.  
-As an old acquaintance of ours would say, there was a 78% chance you could like it- he answers teasingly, curling another lock of hair between thumb and forefinger -and this time my predictions turned out to be exactly right, mhfufu…-  
The sound that Yuuta emits in response is not fully human, but a cross between the grunt of a beast wounded to death and the gasp of a thirsty man who has a bottle of water waved under his nose. He can’t stop himself from sliding his fingers on the soft skin of those calves that, thankfully, have never been particularly muscular and beefy, and that now appear absurdly inviting.  
And that's when the thought comes his mind, intense and sudden almost like a light bulb switching on in his brain, and he almost chokes up.  
-Mi ... Mizuki- he blabbers, before turning excitedly to his boyfriend, eyes wide open like headlights and cheeks red like cherries. -Did you also put on some...-  
And Mizuki, the bastard, that damn shitty man who at the age of thirteen had almost made him destroy a shoulder just to get a victory, who at sixteen had stolen his first kiss while carefully avoiding confessing that his feelings were extremely reciprocated for at least six months, who at eighteen made him irreparably fight with his older brother (only to make things worse by stalking Shuusuke until he somehow mended their relationship), grins like an asshole, grabs that damn skirt, and pulls it up to his chin. Revealing that he actually wore a pair of thin, white, beribboned panties, which cannot quite contain the one thing that is certainly not feminine, and is already erect and waiting to receive his undisputed attention.  
-Happy birthday, Yuuta- Hajime singsongs, licking his lips, and Yuuta doesn’t bother holding back anymore. With a mighty scream that would make a Viking warrior churn in envy, he jumps on him and begins to tear his clothes off.

***

-Next year I want to try some bondage, what do you think?-  
Yuuta, too exhausted after his third orgasm to even lift a finger, let alone articulate entire sentences, merely emits a grunt that quickly turns into a low and continuous snoring. Mizuki, giggling, pushes a lock of his brown hair away from his forehead, bends over him to kiss the tip of his nose…and then promptly retrieves from the bedside table the notebook where he keeps all the data relating to Yuuta that he has collected over the years. The things he’s willing to do for science...


End file.
